A Study in Spring
by Celinarose
Summary: "The first rain of spring is considered magical, you know." "It is? Why?"


Draco was amazed at himself. He hadn't expected to see, much less recognise, the familiar mass of curls that stood a few meters away from him. The owner waited impatiently under the bus stand, hoping the rain would stop, tapping her feet to some unknown beat as she did so. He smiled in spite of himself, remembering the time he had first seen her and her ridiculous hair, thousands of miles away from here.

She stood out, as she always had, despite the magnitude of the people crowded into the space around him. He determinedly slid through the crowd and found himself standing right next to her.

"You could always Transfigure an umbrella, Granger," he whispered from behind, startling her.

She turned her head to look at him, eyes widening in astonishment. Eventually, her expression changed to relief.

"I can't. My wand is monitored. No magic around Muggles." She stated it as though it were obvious.

He smirked.

"Why aren't you Conjuring your own?" she softly questioned, immediately regretting it when she saw his face fall.

He was surprised; not that she was curious, but that she didn't know. He was glad, in a way, that the news had been kept hush. On the other hand, he was disappointed to have to bring up the topic in a conversation that could otherwise have gone pleasantly.

"I don't have a wand," he said quietly and curtly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. He wasn't surprised. He had expected her questioning glare.

"The Ministry decided I was better off without it," he said, his voice indicating that it was all he would say on the matter.

She looked shocked, as though it had never occurred to her that her beloved Ministry could ever do such a thing. It probably hadn't, Draco realised. He, however was inclined to have a much less favourable view of the system of governance in Wizarding Britain. He had learnt that impressions and history accounted for a large part of their decisions.

He turned and realised that the rain had stopped and the people were slowly dispersing onto the streets.

When he looked back towards Hermione, the witch was gone. A tiny piece of parchment lay on the pavement. He laughed as he picked it up, realising it was charmed.

"Still a Gryffindor," he muttered to himself amusedly, though he was acutely aware of the risk she had taken in order to cast the simple Transfiguration spell.

An address and a time were written on it in a spidery script.

He knew the place, a quaint little café, quiet and charming in its own way.

He stood for a while, turning the parchment over in his palm.

"I believe I will," he said, after a few minutes, to no one in particular.

* * *

"Hello!" Hermione said, opening the door.

Draco stood outside, smiling in the warm spring drizzle.

"Took you long enough!" he said, motioning to his now-damp hair that had been ruffled by the cool breeze.

She stepped aside to let him in, unable to resist a sly grin.

He walked inside and at her insistence, sat down on the nearest chair.

"The Ministry must have grown slower while I've been away," he smirked.

"They've been overburdened with...things. They don't always take so long to approve a visiting request, but letting you in my house without one would have been too dangerous," she said, always quick to defend her employer.

Draco considered a little quip about her adherence to the rules. He also had a sneaking suspicion that the delay in the approval had little to do with the Ministry's "burdens", but he let it slide.

"You seem to have a penchant for getting caught in the rain, around this time of the year," she remarked, casting a quick warming spell, before handing him a cup of much-needed tea.

"The first rain of spring is considered magical, you know," she said, running his other hand through his hair. It was something he'd been told long ago, though by whom, he could not remember.

"It is? Why?" Hermione tilted her head to the side as she sat down across the small rosewood table.

Draco shrugged in response. He was far more interested in surveying his surroundings. They had met each other often, after that day in the bus stand, but the rule-abiding witch had not risked inviting him into her house sooner. Granger's home was clearly built and decorated to house a single person. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, it had a warm, welcoming feeling to it.

"I wonder if it's because the foundation stone for Hogwarts was laid in spring," Hermione mused aloud.

"Hogwarts' creation couldn't possibly refer to _all_ springs," he reminded, sipping his tea. "I thought you indulged in philosophy occasionally, Granger. Where's your inner romantic, if you can't appreciate the magic in those little droplets of water on your windowsill?" His voice was teasing, but a careful listener might have heard a hint of the longing note in it.

"I've tried the world-it wears no more,

The colouring of romance it wore," she laughed through one of her favorite quotes, in reply.

"I supposed Weasley is to blame for that," Draco returned, jokingly.

Hermione did not answer. The raindrops pattered against the glass panes as she stared blankly at the wall.

Despite the fact that they had had frequent conversations, they rarely talked about Britain. He had wanted to leave his past behind for obvious reasons, and the Ministry's "punishment" for him had been somewhat convenient, though he sometimes did miss his wand.

She, on the other hand, never confided in him about why she had taken a job as an International Ambassador of Magic for the Ministry, when she could have just as easily taken any of the better positions offered to her, closer to home. He never asked her, but a little research had revealed that her decision had come soon after the news of the split broke. Weasley had found himself with a large number of slip-ups to apologise for, but he simply chose not to show any remorse for even one of them. She had lost a lot of her so-called friends, who had believed that she was the one at fault. Her parents had never been found in Australia, and she had nothing left to keep her in Britain. So Hermione Granger had run away.

"I suppose he is," she answered after a long pause.

Draco regretted bringing up, even in jest, the subject that he knew would hurt his friend-for they had started considering themselves friends- but he had not expected it to sting so much when he received the confirmation from the witch herself.

The awkwardness sustained in the atmosphere, and realising she needed to be alone for a while, Draco silently finished his tea and soon went away.

* * *

"You needed a break from working too much Granger."

"So do you, from working too little," she retorted, sitting down on the soft grass. Inwardly, she knew he was right. She had been overworking herself, and it was taking its toll on her. This little picnic in the quiet, out-of-the-way fields was just what she required, though she would never admit as much to her companion.

He took his seat beside her.

"What is so interesting in listening to those old witches and wizards babble all day long, anyway?" he taunted.

"You learn a lot of things. Some turn out to be helpful. Some, not so much. Besides, I could ask you the same about sitting in front of a screen all day."

He smirked, mentally questioning how she _always_ had a ready retort with her, when he felt a small drop of water on his head. Looking up, he found that the clouds had gathered and a few raindrops were already pattering onto the leaves of the tree that bent over them, thankfully protecting their little spot from getting completely drenched.

He looked back at Hermione, who was also examining the clouds overhead. The glittering drops fell on her chocolate curls like sparkling jewels. He forced himself to turn away, refusing to admit to himself what he had grown to feel over the time he had known her.

"Draco?" she whispered, almost inaudibly. He realised that she had caught him staring. Nevertheless, he wondered if he had only imagined the almost hopeful note in her voice. He had been certain that his feelings were unreciprocated. Granger had her pick of wizards, both British and American, and she would never choose _him,_ an outcast and a traitor. These were the words he had repeated to himself for days, hoping they would stop him from acting foolishly. But something about her, had made him doubt their veracity.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned towards her to brush it way, he saw an expression in her caramel eyes that made him catch his breath. She gently touched her other hand to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, not daring to hope.

Her lips met his, and he leaned in, taking her face in his hands. She smelled like lemongrass and honey. It was exhilarating, coupled with the fragrance of the earth after rain.

"I figured it out," she said breathlessly, when they finally broke apart.

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What makes the first spring rain magical. It's the madness. The beauty and joy and _life_ ," she replied, her eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed. Draco thought she looked as happy as he felt.

"And you," he added, pulling her closer.

* * *

"Are you sure I look alright?" Hermione asked nervously as her friend arranged the flowers in her hair.

"You look perfect," Pansy replied calmly, casting a charm to keep the roses in place among the unruly curls that had taken hours to tame.

Much to everyone's surprise, Pansy Parkinson had been among the few people who stood by Hermione Granger once the news about Ron Weasley had been made public. Though wary at first, Hermione had quickly grown to trust her and they had kept up an active correspondence when she left Britain.

The Slytherin witch had started as an assistant to one of the most famous Magical clothes designers due to her knack for dressmaking, and had eventually gone on to take over the running of the shop itself. Now, five years later, Madam Malkin's belonged to Madam only in name. Pansy had of course, insisted on designing Hermione's dress herself, and her friend obliged.

"What if something goes wrong?" Hermione had begun to pace the floor anxiously as soon as Pansy had let her go.

"You're a powerful witch," Pansy said reassuringly, from her chair. "You'll just use your wand."

"But there will be Muggles there!" she replied, her voice rising in pitch as she grew more worried.

"Relax. A wedding can't possibly be that terrible if so many people survive it," Pansy replied, opening the door to reveal Arthur Weasley, who had snuck away from his family for the span of a few days, having promised to give Hermione away at the wedding.

Unlike his wife, he had not been blinded by his love towards his son, and he knew and acknowledged Ronald's true nature. He had been fond of Hermione, and made sure that his son's behaviour would not cause a rift between him and the witch he considered his second daughter. Unbeknownst to the other Weasleys, he sent her Christmas presents each year, along with a few occasional letters.

Hermione took his arm, and walked slowly to the aisle, following Pansy, who was attired in the same emerald as the grooms-men's bows.

Her anxiety gave way to happiness as soon as she saw the man standing at the other end. The gentle breeze also did its part in calming her, as did the welcome shade provided by the clouds above.

As she started walking towards him, a few of the guests felt the droplets of water beginning to fall from those very clouds, and put up their umbrellas.

Hermione and Draco exchange smiles, and the soft winds laughed with them at their shared secret.

The guests stood up when the bride and groom said their vows and kissed, but the two people in question did not, even for a moment look away from each other.

* * *

Epilogue:

"Papa! It's raining! Come and see!" Cassiopeia Granger-Malfoy called out, running to the balcony where her parents were sitting.

Hermione looked up from the papers on her lap, and sure enough, it was drizzling, but neither of the children in front of her seemed to be any worse for it. She sighed and was just about to tell them to go inside, when their father gave them permission to do otherwise. Orion and Cassie happily returned to playing in the garden.

She had been just about to tell Draco her objections to it, but he was quicker.

"It's just a little spring rain. They will be fine."

His words brought back memories of many such days when though the sky was overcast, their spirits were anything but.

"Do you remember-" she began, but was promptly cut off by her husband.

"Of course I do. Ever single spring. Why love, are you afraid that marrying you has made my memory grow weak?" he teased lovingly.

"You are incorrigible!" Hermione said indignantly, just as Draco walked over to her. With Slytherin precision, her papers were in his pocket before she knew it, and he was in the garden, smirking.

She raised an eyebrow, but she soon saw that he would not be persuaded.

And so she ran out onto the damp grass with the rest of her family, their footsteps pattering with the raindrops.

 _Fin_

* * *

 ** _Notes: Written for the HP DrizzleFest_**

 ** _I've never dabbled in this pairing before, so I'm not sure how well it turned out. I hope I was able to do justice to your prompt with this little story! I very much enjoyed writing it, and hopefully you will have fun reading it._**  
 ** _Thanks to the mods for organising this amazing fest! And a big thank you to my beta M.W. who took the time to read and edit this._**


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